


I Know God Lifts Up the Lowly

by melchixr



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Guardian Angels, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angel Wings, Angst, Christianity, Coming Out, Heaven & Hell, M/M, Melchior is Moritz's guardian angel, On the Run, Road Trips, Runaway, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28638213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melchixr/pseuds/melchixr
Summary: “I don’t know.  I guess I’ll find somewhere to sleep tonight.”“Like on the ground?” Melchior nodded in response. Moritz scoffed, opening the front doors and feeling a rush of the icy, sea breeze air. “You’ll freeze to death, bud.” He looked over Melchior’s oversized jacket. It was big, but filled with enough holes to make it  useless. “Plus, the homeless people out here are savage. They’ll rock your shit.”“What else am I gonna do?”Moritz huffed as he locked the front doors, trying to think up somewhere for the runaway to go. Melchior stared back at him expectantly before he sighed out, “Just come crash on my couch for the night, okay?”Melchior smiled, seemingly overjoyed to get the response he was looking for. “Okay,” He attempted to suppress his grin into a solemn smile. He nodded, more speaking to himself than to Moritz, “Okay.”“Okay…” Moritz tisked and the door clicked closed. Inside, the only light was the broken clock, still reading in flashing red ‘11:11’.-Title and Inspiration from 'God Lifts Up the Lowly' by Ezra Furman-
Relationships: Melchior Gabor/Moritz Stiefel, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warning: Suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation

-San Francisco, California-

Moritz opened his second package of Ding-Dongs around eleven o’clock, not even bothering to hide from the security cameras. In fact, he found it funny to eat the styrofoam tasting cakes while looking at the monitor that sat on the counter, watching himself feast on the stolen goods from an over-the-shoulder perspective that sorta gave him the creeps. The thought of his boss finding out and getting pissed didn’t phase Moritz for plenty of reasons. First of all, his boss had been pissed at him a hundred times over and for things much worse than enjoying some Hostess treats while on the clock. Second being that he found the Ding-Dongs delicious, so that was a personal win of his. And the final reason being the fact that he would be dead by midnight. 

He had been telling himself that all night, using is as an excuse more than anything. Why mop when he’s going to be dead in an hour? Why stop the kids that came in to shoplift? Why not enjoy a cream filling snack cake when he was gonna be laying out on the bathroom floor by the time morning came?

He made himself chuckle. How fucking morbid. ABBA’s Take a Chance on Me started playing over the tinny speakers.

The thought of Ding-Dongs being his last meal was also very funny to Moritz. He could only imagine the autopsy, cutting open his stomach to find just heaps of processed chocolate cake. 

Do they do autopsies for suicides? As he pondered the question, he reached over the front of the counter once more and picked up another pack of Ding-Dongs.

That’s when the front door opened, setting off the annoying electronic bell sound that would haunt Moritz’s dreams forever.

Well, not forever, he corrected himself mentally, probably only for the next…. He checked the time and the digital clock tucked behind the counter glared back at him 11:11. The noise would only annoy him for the next 49 minutes.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw a movement on the monitor and remembered that the noise was caused by another human being walking through the door. He sat upright on his stool to see the top of a head poking out from the candy aisle. Silently, he watched the person shuffle around the back of the store, picking up items and putting them back. They wore a black jacket that was far too big for their obviously small frame and a hood pulled up over their head. Moritz wondered if they meant to dress as shady as possible, their hands tucked into their pockets and their head suddenly turning away anytime Moritz looked in their direction. 

He didn’t even try to hold back a chuckle when he crumpled up his now empty wrapper and the person, who was now perusing the energy drinks, jumped about a foot off the ground. 

Maybe, he leaned back in his stool and let his mind wander, he should specifically request an autopsy. But then he’d have to write a letter, and he really didn’t want to draft up one of those. Billy Joel’s Uptown Girl started playing.

His eyes found the monitor absentmindedly, where he watched the person stuff a Monster Energy into their jacket pocket.

Because then if he did write a note asking for an autopsy everyone would wonder why he didn’t do the whole ‘love you mom and dad, sorry about everything’, which was just too dramatic. 

The person pushed a bag of chips down their pants.

Maybe he’d just stick a Post-It to his forehead with ‘Tear up my guts 4 a surprise!’.

The person pushed a handful of candy bars up their sleeve.

He made himself giggle, “Tear up my guts,” He whispered to himself, “I should just put that on my grindr profile.” Bennie and the Jets started playing.

The person shuffled towards the door to leave, looking over their shoulder at Moritz over and over. They seemed hesitant to leave, like they were giving time for Moritz to stop them, their clothes practically bulging with stolen goods. He pondered saying somthing about it for a second or two before remembering again that he’d be dead in an hour and he couldn’t give less of a fuck if the kid stole some junk food.

That was before the liter of coke they had stuffed up their shirt fell out and exploded on the tile floor.

“Fuck!” Moritz groaned as he watched the sticky brown puddle spread over the floor, knowing that he had to mop that up at least. “You could not be worse at shoplifting if you tried!”

The person jumped to life immediately, rushing to Moritz and tossing handfuls of his stolen goods onto the counter between them. “I’m so sorry!” They cried, their voice much deeper than Moritz had anticipated. “I’ll never do it ever again, I swear! I’m sorry! I can put it all back if you want me to! I just-”

“Jesus Chirst, kid!” Moritz laughed, looking over their attempted bounty. Packs of gum, batteries, travel size shampoo, candy bars, a box of condoms, a bottle of aspirin. “What do you need all this shit for?”

When he looked up from the pile he noticed that the person had taken off the hood. It was a boy, Moritz guessed no older than eighteen, with a flushed pink face. He was staring at Moritz with the biggest, brownest eyes he had seen in his life. “Oh, nothing, I just- I- Nothing.” 

Don’t You Want Me by the Human League started playing.

Moritz crossed his arms and leaned back to look at the kid some more. He was shorter than Moritz, making him think that it was some thirteen year old until he took his hood off. He learned fast that most of the culprits of crimes this idiotic were thirteen year old boys, filled with exclusively sexual frustration and absolutelt no coherant thoughts. But instead, it was a boy only a few years younger than him, eyes darting around the room before coming back to Moritz. “Okay, what are you staring at?” He snapped.

A little taken aback, Moritz scoffed. “I’m staring at you, genius. You’re the one who attempted to steal shit,” The kid huffed and looked back at the mess on the floor, which also appeared to have splashed all over his front. Moritz began collecting the goods he had tossed over the counter, “You know, I would have let you leave with them. You were stupid obvious, but you could have just walked out.”

“Wait, you were just gonna let me go?” He seemed almost angry with the fact. But he seemed sort of angry about everything. It made Moritz want to reach out and pat his head.

“I don’t fucking care, I don’t own the place,” Moritz shrugged off his shocked face and shuffled out from behind the narrow counter, making his way towards the broom closet. From over his shoulder he called, “If you’re desperate enough to steal, you probably need the shit more than we need the money.” 

  
The kid didn’t say anything, just watched Moritz unlock the closet door with the ring of keys he had on his belt loop. When he turned back around, Moritz was surprised to see that he hadn’t made a run for it yet. He was just standing there, looking in the reflection of the glass doors and attempting to fix the strands of brown hair that had come out of place while tucked under his hood. He jumped, startled by Moritz’s voice. “Hey, I won’t tell anyone about this if you mop it up.”

Moritz sat on his stool, arms crossed and content as the kid mopped up the Coke, nodding along to a muffled version of I Wanna Dance With Somebody. He seemed to be distracted by Moritz, constantly casting looks over his shoulder at Moritz, half expectant, half confused. 

“What are you doing stealing shit from a Seven-Eleven on a Tuesday night?” Moritz asked after a few silent minutes passed, filled with nothing but silent glances.

“Nowhere else to go,” The kid replied, wringing the mop out into the bucket.

Moritz nodded to himself and continued his attempt of braiding his own hair. “You’re not from around here?” He said after another minute or so, raising his eyebrows at the only other person he had seen all night.

“No, I’m not,” The kid shook his head. “How could you tell?”

“Are you kidding? No offense, buddy, but you look like a young republican,” Moritz stifled a laugh as the kid looked himself over, his pink lips pursed into a frown. “Not like fucking cousins republican,” Moritz continued, watching his companion roll his eyes and go back to work mopping. “Like suburbs, boat shoes and loveless marriage republican.” A few more beats as the kid mopped and shook his head. “Then where are you from?”

A little pause as the kid rocked up and down on his heel, as if trying to remember. “Uhhh… I’m from Santa Cruz.”

“Santa Cruz? What the fuck are you doing here?” 

With eyes downcast, he shrugged, “I ran away.”

“Oh,” Moritz leaned back once more, biting at his chapped lips. He watched and let the silence sit for another minute. The run-away didn’t seem to be a huge fan of Moritz’s questions, but he kept on looking over his shoulder at him. 

He seemed hesitant when he spoke again, “My name is Melchior, by the way.”

“Weird name.” Footloose by Kenny Loggins started playing.

“Thanks?”

Moritz couldn’t help but smile, content with the way Melchior huffed, looking up to the sky as if to ask ‘Why me?’. “My name’s Moritz.”

“And that’s not a weird name?”

“It is,” He nodded, looking over his shoulder. His smug grin dropped when he noticed the clock beside him still read 11:11. “Hey, Melchior, buddy, you got a watch?” He asked. 

Melchior paused his mopping to pull up the sleeve of his jacket and reveal a cheap looking, plastic watch. “Yeah. It’s eleven thirty-five.”

“Hmm,” Huffed Moritz as he reached out to hit the top of the digital clock. “My clock’s all fucked up. “

“Huh... Weird,” Melchior replied in a way that told Moritz that he was neither interested or thought it was weird in the slightest.

All the Coke had been successfully mopped away now, still leaving a bit of sticky shine on the already grimey floor. Moritz was almost impressed by how quickly Mechior had finished his task, but before he could comment on that, Melchior looked over to him and stated, “Why don’t you just go home early?”

“I would but-” Moritz began to respond before stopping himself, looking up from the broken clock and at Melchior with confused eyes. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out but a strangled “Wha…”. Melchior stared back, unfazed. “How did you know…?”   
  


Rolling his eyes, Melchior pointed at the fingerprint covered glass doors, at the bottom of which it read in chipping letters ‘TUE- 6AM-12AM’.

“Oh yeah,” Moritz shrugged. “Guess I could go home.”

“No one else is gonna come in,” Melchior said with the confidence of someone who knows he’s right. 

Raising his eyebrows, Moritz nodded in agreement, partially because he was right, no one ever came in this late. But also because something was so convincing about how certain Melchior was. He would soon see how often Melchior was like this. “Yeah, you’re right. Just put away the mop and I’ll-”

Melchior was already moving towards the supply closet, leaving the ground he walked on seemingly spotless in his wake. 

Moritz went about, half-assing his regular closing routine. He couldn’t be bothered to give too much of a fuck, thinking that his manager wouldn’t be able to yell at him at his funeral. And if he did, that would be very frowned upon. Melchior stuck around as he did so, aimlessly leaning against the counter and humming along to the funky bass line of Pop Muzik by M.

It wasn’t until Moritz had the keys to the front door in his hand and his hand on the light switch that he thought to ask Melchior, standing beside him, “Wait… where are headed for tonight?”

Melchior shrugged, his face and voice unbothered. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll find somewhere to sleep tonight.”

“Like on the ground?” Melchior nodded in response. Moritz scoffed, opening the front doors and feeling a rush of the icy, sea breeze air. The chill struck straight through Moritz’s hoodie, making goosebumps erupt over every inch of skin. “You’ll freeze to death, bud.” He looked over Melchior’s oversized jacket. It was big, but filled with enough holes to make it basically useless, his baggy grey hoodie showing through it and making Moritz cold just by looking at it. “Plus, the homeless people out here are savage. They’ll rock your shit.”

“What else am I gonna do?”

Moritz huffed as he locked the front doors, trying to think up somewhere for the runaway to go. Melchior stared back at him expectantly before he sighed out, “Just come crash on my couch for the night, okay?”

Melchior smiled, seemingly overjoyed to get the response he was looking for. “Okay,” He attempted to suppress his grin into a solemn smile. He nodded, more speaking to himself than to Moritz, “Okay.”

Moritz thought that maybe Melchior should have been more weary to take such an offer from a stranger. Moritz could have been a serial killer, or some sort of weird, twisted cultist, or maybe his apartment smelled of cat piss. But Melchior seemed to be very confident in the fact that he would be just fine, even relieved that Moritz had offered. 

“Okay…” Moritz tisked and the door clicked closed. Inside, the only light was the broken clock, still reading in flashing red ‘11:11’.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

-San Francisco, California-

The pair shot through the void of night, one stacked on top of the other. It took a moment for Melchior to get accustomed to how fast Moritz could go on his bike. He had a white knuckle grip on the back of Moritz’s coat as they rode over the bumpy, crack ridden sidewalks, evading piles of trash and the wandering drug addict. Moritz rode fast down the darkened streets, his path lit by streetlights and the neon of clubs, concert venues, and the lights in the windows closed until daylight. And Melchior got the brunt of his recklessness, nearly falling off the back rack that Moritz usually carried his backpack or groceries on. 

He waited impatiently when they reached crosswalks, staring at the red hand signal and giving Melchior enough stillness to ask, “Are we almost there?”

“I’ll leave your ass right here to use that pile of cigarette butts as a pillow.”

Melchior shut back up, looking at streets around them as they flew towards Moritz’s apartment. He was entranced by the blurring lights and sounds, as if this dingy inner city neighborhood was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

The apartment itself was right in the middle of it all, atop a business with long, velvet curtained windows with signs inside that read ‘PSYCHIC’ and ‘PALM READING’ in blue neon. “Come on,” Moritz sighed, his cheeks and nose bright pink from the night’s chill. He stepped off the bike, leaving Melchior to practically fall off without his balance. The pair stepped up on the stoop to the second door on the building, a thin, weather worn door apart from the Psychic business entirely. He picked up the bike by the thin metal frame, holding it under his arm as he unlocked the multiple locks with the ring of keys he kept on his belt loop. 

“Nice neighborhood,” Melchior hummed, attempting to hide his condescending tone. Moritz huffed in response and started the hike up the narrow, dimly lit staircase. Anyone not accustomed to the building would surely trip over the ancient, creaky stairs. But Moritz hopped up them with ease, leaving Melchior clambering behind him. 

“You’re one choosey beggar,” Mused Moritz as he walked down the long, dank hallway, complete with out of date shag carpet that seemed to grab onto their shoes with each step. He stopped at the very last door that read ‘5’ in faded paint. Unlocking the door took some pushing, but he managed to shove it open to reveal the space inside. 

It was a tiny apartment. Melchior would have called it a storage closet actually, with barely enough room for the two to stand shoulder to shoulder between the dusty couch and the entrance to his kitchen. 

The cramped excuse for a living room was lit dimly by a single lamp in the corner of the room. The dark green wallpaper was stained from years of abuse and cigarette smoke, the smell of which still cling to the air. It was bare bones, only a couch, a coffee table covered in water rings, and a box tv that sat alongside an impressive collection of VHS movies in a cardboard box. The main ‘decor’ of the room was the clutter. Dirty plates, ash trays, items of clothing. And Moritz fit right into it, shoving his bike between the wall and his couch and turning to Melchior. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” Melchior looked around the room, in partial disgust and partial awe. He made himself at home in the oversized arm chair on the far side of the room, looking out through the window that faced the backside of a brick building similar to the one they were in. Even though it was closed and had a towel stuffed in the window sill, cold air and rock music came through loud and clear. 

Apparently Moritz could hear Melchior attempting to shut the noise out from the kitchen. “You can’t fix that crack,” he called over the sound of him opening cupboards, hunting for a sign of something edible. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

“That’s why I can afford the place,” Moritz said after a few beats of silence. “The draft, the bugs-“

“Bugs?!”

“The club next door, the ghost.” 

“Oh fuck off, you’re fucking with me now,” Melchior laughed as Moritz emerged from the kitchen. In his hands he carried two bowls of Captain Crunch, offering one to Melchior as he shook his head.

“I’m not. The dude who lived here before me killed his wife.” He sat down on the arm of the couch with a smug smile. “The ancient lady that lives next door swears that she’s seen the ghost. Or at least I think that’s what she’s saying. Her English isn’t that good.”

Melchior shook his head in disbelief. “Your life is… interesting.”

“That’s a polite way to put it,” Moritz said between bites. 

Following Moritz’s lead, Melchior took a spoonful from his own bowl. His eyes widened with pleasant surprise the second it touched his lips, “Shit!” he exclaimed, mouth full. “This is really good!”

Moritz’s eyebrows raised in confusion. “It’s just cereal, kid.” He chuckled.

“Never had it before,” Melchior took another giant bite. 

“You’ve never had breakfast cereal?” 

Melchior shook his head, his soft waves of brown falling out of place and all around his flushed pink face. “They don’t have it where I’m from.” Another bite.

“They don’t have cereal…. in Santa Cruz?”

Still chewing, Melchior’s brow furrowed, as if he had forgotten where he had said he was from. “...Yes.” He said hesitantly after a pregnant pause. 

Moritz was too exhausted to question that ridiculous statement. Fuck it, the world is already so goddamn weird. Weird enough to make him bring a total stranger to come sleep in his home. Maybe it was so weird that cereal didn’t exist in Santa Cruz. Instead, he just nodded, let out a soft ‘huh’, and stood up again. He sat his own, half eaten bowl among the rest of his unwashed dishes on the coffee table. “I’m fucking exhausted, kid. I’m gonna go to sleep.” When he noticed Melchior staring at the bowl, he sighed, “You can have that if you want.”

“Thanks,” Melchior grunted through his mouthful. Moritz couldn’t help but chuckle, turning to the couch he also used as a dirty laundry hamper. He pushed the pile of clothes to the floor below, nearly knocking his filthy bong off the coffee table in the process.

“Shit!” He muttered as he caught the blown glass tool. “You can sleep here tonight,” He said, motioning to the couch. “Sorry it smells like cat piss. The last tenants left it here.”

“Like the murder tenants?”

“Yeah,” Moritz said, too nonchalant for Melchior’s taste, before he began to wander the small room, looking aimlessly for a blanket. “Aw fuck yeah!” He celebrated upon pulling a quilt out from under a pile of miscellaneous shit that looked like it fell from a thrift store‘s clearance section. “Here,” He threw it onto Melchior’s lap, sloshing around some milk in the process. “You’ll need this, it gets cold in here.”

“Mmmf,” Another full grunt as he moved to the other bowl. Moritz couldn’t help but chuckle at the ridiculousness of him. At the ridiculousness of it all. At the fact that he woke up this morning with the intent to kill himself and now he’s smiling down at the runaway sitting in his living room. And then, he chuckled at the fact that he had completely forgotten that he had planned to kill himself. 

“What are you laughing at?” Melchior said, making Moritz snap from his self involved state. He was staring up at Mortiz with his wide, hazel eyes, the light behind them showing a wonder Moritz had never seen before. For a moment, he felt as if his chest was going to cave in. There was something sort of beautiful about him. Something that made Moritz think of sunny afternoons when he was a little kid, and the warm glow of a smile, and when the whole world lights up around Christmas. 

He quickly looked away, almost frightened by the flood of emotion’s Melchior brought upon him. “Yeah, nothing.” And then a moment later, shaking his head, “Nothing. I gotta go to bed.”

“Sure,” Melchior mused. “I’ll be out here if you need me.” He sat patiently on the couch, the bundled up blanket in his lap and a shining smile on his face. 

“I won’t,” Moritz chuckled, moving towards his bedroom door. Inside was his long since made mattress that sat on the floor without a bedframe. The only light was the yellow glow of the streetlight on the street outside. It illuminated the posters on the wall, the pile of unfolded clothes on his desk chair, and the space on his dresser where his pill bottle once was. Now, it was only an empty, dustless space that went unnoticed by Moritz. He locked the door behind himself and, for the first time ever, felt an urge he didn’t understand. The urge to smile. The urge to pray.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

-San Francisco, California-

Moritz dreamt of white and when he woke up he was thirsty. Reaching to the bottle of water that was usually on his bedside table, he cursed himself. He recalled in his groggy state that he had cleaned up earlier that day. 

He had completely forgotten that the reason he had cleaned up was because he didn’t want his mother seeing the room was such a mess when she came just to pack up his things.

Half awake and palming the bedside table he attempted to wrap his mind around the dream that she had just woken up from. But like all other dreams, it began to slip from his fingers as he grew more conscious. He remembered white and gold and warm but not warm the sensation. Warm the emotion. 

And he remembered to face a face that was familiar and also not familiar. a face that seemed a lot like the one sleeping on his couch right now. But was that even real or is that all part of the dream too?

He could’ve sworn that was real as well. But as he came to his senses, it seemed less and less likely. There was no way that could’ve happened in reality. He must’ve dreamt up the whole thing and he wouldn’t put it past himself. He’d had weird dreams before. Much weirder.

So maybe, he convinced himself, he had dreamed up the handsome stranger he brought home from the convenience store.Must’ve gotten high before bed, he thought, that’s why his dreams were so strange and so vivid.

Or maybe there really was a stranger sleeping on his couch. Fuck it. He didn’t care. He was fucking thirsty. 

“Oh, hey Moritz,” Melchior chimed as the bedroom door opened. It spoke so casually, sitting up on the couch he was supposed to be asleep on. In front of him on the coffee table sat one of Moritz’s mug’s filled up with what he assumed was coffee, as the scent filled the room. In his hands, a book that Moritz did not recall owning, or even ever seeing before. 

“Mmmhf,” Moritz grunted, wondering if he was even awake to begin with. He squinted down at Melchior, instinctually putting up his hand to shield his eyes from what felt to him like blinding light.

The lamp that lit Melchior also illuminated the rest of the living room, and did it much brighter than Moritz remembered it being before. And in that light he saw that the room he left a pig sty was practically spotless. All the dirty dishes had been put away, the laundry folded. And fuck, he thought as he took a deep breath, smelt ten times better than it ever had. “Hey…” He muttered after the surprise subsided.

“My name’s Melchior, in case you forgot,” Melchior snickered, not even looking up from the book.

“I didn’t forget,” He rubbed his eyes and attempted to focus his sleepy eyes on the book cover to no avail. “What are you doing up?”

Immediately, Melchior responded, as if planned. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Hmm.” Moritz scowled at the newly pristine room, trying to get his bearings. The room he stood in now did not feel like the one he had left Melchior in. It felt elevated, born again almost. And in the center of it all there was Melchior. Moritz’s focus came back to the man sitting on the suddenly stainless couch. “What the fuck did you do to this place?”

Another shrug, he looked up from the book and around at the room as if seeing it for the first time as well. Unphased, he said, “Just tidied up a bit. Did the dishes.”

“You do the dishes when you can’t sleep?”

“Sometimes.”

He looked back to the book, locking Moritz out once more. Now fully awake and determined, Moritz wandered across the carpet that used to be sticky and sat across from Melchior on the big, worn arm of his arm chair. “Where did you say you were from again?”

“Santa Cruz.”

“What made you leave?”

Melchior’s eyes wandered from the pages as he thought, caught in a staring match with the leg of the coffee table. Moritz was unable to read if he was thinking of a lie, didn’t want to talk about it, or both. “Family,” he said after a few silent moments.

“You could have just moved out,” Moritz chuckled. “That’s what most people do when they hate their family.”

Melchior’s eyes finally came back to Moritz’s. In this new light, he could finally see the details of Melchior. The brown dots and moles that dotted his rosy skin. The ring of gold around his pupils. He was practically shining. Or maybe that was the new light bulb. “I did more out,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I moved out here.”

“Well then you’ll have to find your own place, kid,” Moritz crossed his arms and leaned back to get a better view of Melchior.

He didn’t twitch or fidget like Moritz. In fact, he was the polar opposite. He sat back, relaxed, upright, calm. “Is that you telling me to get out?”

“I was trying to be polite about it.”

“You’re bad at that.”

Both laughed. Not a big, boisterous laughed shared between best friends. But a snickering, head shaking laugh that is shared between two people that couldn’t help themselves. Laughing at each other and at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Moritz let out a sigh through the chuckles, “Yeah, I’ve been told that before.”

“I’ll be out of here tomorrow,” Melchior assured him. His tone was genuine, soft, unlike he had heard it before. “You’ll forget I was even here.” Before Moritz could reply, he stood up. His tone changed once more, back to the Melchior he had met earlier that night. “You said you wanted water, right?”

“Oh… yeah…” He wasn’t sure if he had even mentioned water to Melchior. In fact, he had completely forgotten about it himself. 

Melchior was already on it, walking over to the newly organized and polished kitchen. Moritz knew he didn’t own enough cleaning supplies to do all of this. He didn’t even know if he owned any cleaning supplied. But Melchior was already pouring him a glass of water from the pitcher he always forgot to refill. How the hell did he know where the glasses were?

Too many questions, no answers, Moritz said fuck it once more and took the glass. “Thanks, kid.”

“No problem, by the way I’m older than you, kid.”

The sudden retaliation took Moritz back, looking over him with a doubting eye. He looked young. Well maybe not as young as he was youthful. But still, there was no way he was any older than nineteen. And Moritz, nearing the end of twenty-two refused to believe anything else. “No fucking way. How old are you?”

“You better get to bed,” Melchior said as if he hadn’t said anything before. He was really good at that. “It’s late. Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“...Yeah….” Moritz took a suspicious sip, eyeing Melchior as he did. But he just looked back at him, a strange certainty to him that made Moritz just give up any more questioning. Maybe this wasn’t making sense because he was tired, he thought. Not because it actually made no sense. “Yeah, I better.”

Fuck it, nothing made sense. “Thanks for the water.” He took another big sip.

“Of course,” Melchior obliged as Moritz shuffled back into his bed room. Locking the door once more, he proceeded to crawl back into bed and have the first truly peaceful sleep in years.

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy looks like I'm back and writing again! my Tumblr is @melchixr as always, feel free to harass me on there.


End file.
